


I'll Drown

by KingFarbauti



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: FAHC, Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, Gen, I'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7450627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingFarbauti/pseuds/KingFarbauti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request: Achievement Hunter goes swimming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Drown

Ryan could smell the smoke before he saw it; he heard the screaming of the cargobob’s alarms before he heard Jack’s panicked cries of ‘No! No!’; he recalled his gaze finding Jeremy’s own, he remembered the absolute terror in the younger man’s face as the two shared a horrifying, unified thought. _We’re crashing._

Normally, in this situation—because they had been in this situation before—the crew would equip their parachutes, gather their belongings, jump, and hope for the best. But this heist had carried them far out across the ocean, far away from any signs of life, _away from any help._

Everyone seemed to collectively decide whether or not the parachutes were worth it; the fall from this height would be enough to break bones, but what were a few broken bones when there was no hope of reaching the shore?

In the end, there were mixed decisions.

Gavin hurriedly equipped his iconic parachute, after a bit of goading from Michael’s screaming tones, and the Brit more or less tripped his way out of the plummeting cargobob. Michael went soon after, and Ryan could see their forms sailing away as fast as the wind could carry them. It wouldn’t be enough.

Geoff was preoccupied, screaming at Jack to abandon her attempts at a gentle landing, and to escape while she could. Geoff threatened to heed his own advice, but Ryan knew; Geoff would never leave her.

So enraptured in his militant observation of everyone around him, Ryan hadn’t even begun to think of his own escape, or to notice the quickly approaching water. There was more water than sky, now, and had he been aware, Ryan would have worried.

A hand roughly grabbed his arm, and his heterochromic eyes found Jeremy’s again.

“Ryan!” The shorter man cried frantically, “We gotta--!”

His words were lost; swallowed by the sea as the cargobob crashed nose-first into the choppy waves with an impressive explosion. It was the water that had ultimately saved them from immediate incinerations, but it couldn’t save them from stray burns.

\---

For being the middle of the day, the ocean was terrifyingly dark, Jeremy noted.

His eyes stung as he tried to open them underwater, but painful seeing was better than not seeing at all. Part of him wished he had kept his eyes closed; he preferred the lie.

Jack’s body was sinking fast, and with the amount of blood pouring from her, Jeremy knew she was more than just unconscious. He wanted to scream, and potentially cry, but panic overrode all other emotions as he looked around frantically: debris chased Jack to the bottom of the ocean, and oil began to taint the waters around him, he could hear muffled shouts from above the surface.

Blue caught his attention from the corner of his vision. And red, _so much red._

Ryan’s lax body slipped below the surface and began to plummet just as Jack’s had, and this time Jeremy did scream. Bubbles and a pitiful sound left his mouth as the sniper willed himself to move, using his powerful arms to cut through the dark waters in an effort to reach Ryan in time.

With one arm around the mercenary’s waist, Jeremy propelled them both back to the surface, but the carnage that greeted him made it difficult to take in air. What was left of the cargobob’s floating hull was engulfed in flames, Geoff’s unconscious body was precariously perched on a sheet of floating metal; a wound to his temple bleeding freely.

In the distance, he could see Michael and Gavin bobbing above the waves, screaming out for whoever might be left. Jeremy attempted a wordless call back, just to let them know, just to try, but it was a feeble and shaky thing. He was unsure if they heard him.

Ryan began to grow heavy in his arms, even with the help of the ocean’s suspension, and it was the weight that prompted Jeremy to truly get a good look at his friend. The Vagabond’s iconic face paint had all but washed away, leaving a ghastly smear in its wake. His face was pale, his hair a tangled mess that stuck to his face at odd angles, and most terrifyingly—his eyes adamantly remained shut.

Jeremy found himself transfixed. With the way Ryan was cradled so gently in his arms, the sniper could vaguely hear Ryan, in the back trenches of his mind that weren’t being flooded with utter panic and mayhem.

“ _We look like Michelangelo’s_ ‘Pietà’.” The older man would undoubtedly say, in the arrogant bragging tone that purposefully annoyed the rest of the crew. It would be then that Ryan would delve into an obscene amount of knowledge about Michelangelo, with no one asking him to, until he was threatened by gunpoint to stop. Jeremy didn’t know enough about classical art to even imitate the mercenary, in his mind.

A gentle stirring of the water caught Jeremy’s attention, and he turned just in time to see Geoff’s body slide off of the sheet metal he had been resting against. A whispered breath of the ringleader’s name was all that escaped Jeremy’s lips, and the young man had to grapple with his conscience about whether to let Geoff go—or whether to let Ryan go.

In the end, he couldn’t convince his arms to give up their iron grip, and so he watched with teary eyes as the burning hull tipped, and the cargobob’s blades plunged into the depths that Geoff had disappeared into.

 _He’s chasing after Jack. Just like always._ There was Ryan’s voice again, in his head, without warning or prompting. It did little to ease Jeremy’s anguish.

When his arms began to burn from the strain of keeping himself and Ryan afloat, Jeremy knew he needed a better solution. The sharks would also be coming, soon. With all the blood that had been shed between Jack, Ryan… _Geoff_ … they would be circling to feed within the hour. As sour and grim as the idea was, Jeremy wanted to be caught in the water when it happened even less.

By some wretched miracle, he was able to locate the life raft that had been stowed in the cargobob’s now-shattered hull. The wretchedness came from the pinprick hole in the side, that would render the raft only barely useable.

It was enough, for now.

With some great effort, Jeremy heaved Ryan’s unconscious body into the raft, and feverishly he began to doggy-paddle away from the wreckage. Serving as the raft’s only motor.

He didn’t get far before a familiar shape caught his eye; the wheels of the landing gear floating along the surface, the tires having broken free from their trappings upon the crash, and subsequent explosion. In a moment of quiet brilliance, Jeremy strung the tires together as best as he could with twine from the deflating raft, shoving them up under the nylon flotation device.

They would help to keep things afloat, for longer. He was quite proud of himself, despite everything, and somehow he knew the others would be too.

\---

Jeremy had been paddling for what felt like years, but had really only been an hour at best. He had started off in the direction of Michael and Gavin’s faint cries, but the pair had gone silent a while back, and Jeremy could no longer see them bobbing above the waves on the horizon. Still, he was determined to reach them, and so he kept going.

Ryan slept on.

The mercenary had stopped bleeding, and Jeremy wasn’t sure whether to be worried or relieved. He couldn’t even tell where the injury was, amidst all of the Vagabond’s dark clothes and many layers. All he knew was that Ryan looked serene, almost peaceful, and Jeremy prayed they would make it to shore soon.

But shore was nowhere in sight, no matter which direction he turned. The waves refused to roll in any direction, they only bobbed up and down. It left him feeling dizzy, a little hopeless, and afraid.

 _At least we’re together, right?_ Ryan’s voice called to him, but Jeremy didn’t have the strength to answer. _It’s a Catch Twenty-two… if you answer, it means you’re giving in to your own insanity,_ Ryan lectured, _but if you ignore me, you’ll be alone._

What an aggravating bastard he was, even as a figment. Jeremy chided himself for even acknowledging the voice in thought, but it was all he had at the moment.

Ryan’s voice, and the cold.

The sun was beginning to set, and despite the fact that it was mid-Summer, they had been in the water for most of the day. The shock of the crash also served to leech away whatever warmth they might have found. Ryan remained still, but Jeremy could not stop the violent shivering of his frame. Paddling ever onward did nothing to keep up his body heat, it only served to exhaust him further.

By the time night had fallen, Jeremy gave up his attempts at pushing them.

The climb into the raft had little grace, and Jeremy could hear Ryan laughing in the back of his mind. _Didn’t you used to be a gymnast?_

“Oh, shut up.” Jeremy snapped, out of instinct, and it made him freeze; falling the rest of the way into the raft. He hadn’t meant to reply to the voice, he hadn’t meant to give in. But the loneliness was overwhelming, and when faced with the reality that all of his friends were gone, the imagined voice of his closest friend was such a sweet balm.

Curling in close to Ryan’s slumbering frame, Jeremy tried his best to ignore that Ryan was almost too still.

Now that he had given in to his own delusions, there was no stopping it. “And what were **you** , before all of this?” Jeremy asked, a little irritated, to Ryan’s unconscious body, and Ryan’s voice in his head; doing his best to ignore the intense burning at the back of his throat. To ignore the way his vision grew cloudy.

_Would you believe me if I said I was a florist?_

Jeremy made a sound, which could have either been a laugh or a sob.

“Is that why you always kept potted plants on the patio…?” There was no stopping the tears, now. His only solace was that there were only waves for miles, not a soul to see his shame. He was all that was left.

_Hey, gardening is a great hobby. I always dreamed of having a proper one, someday._

“I can see it now… the fearsome Vagabond, in full war paint, shuffling around some--… some quaint little yard. Watering plants with one of those wacky watering cans. The kind that look like an elephant.”

_I’ve always been a fan of dogs, personally._

\---

Jeremy watched the moon climb through the sky—whatever he could see of it through the tears, and through the clouds. He thought of the others: of Gavin and Michael making strange contraptions to keep the beer cooler afloat in the pool; of Geoff’s amazing cooking that always brought everyone together so seamlessly; of Jack bringing him along on car rides where she sang too loudly, and a little off-key.

His first real family, swallowed up by the unforgiving waves.

_Well, not all of us. Not yet._

Jeremy pinched his eyes shut, hoping that if he blocked out his vision, he could block out the voice in his head as well. It was a fools hope. All it did was fill his mind with images of Ryan on the penthouse patio, quietly pruning his plants as curious birds flocked close enough to watch him work. It was almost impossible to imagine that same person viciously dismembering a hostage, with those same hands. It was impossible to imagine that person not existing anymore; the image was too real in his mind, he could almost reach out and touch the glass patio doors.

_Let me go, buddy._

The sniper’s eyes opened abruptly, greeted with the sight of endless ocean, and his own outstretched hand. Reaching towards some faraway hope. He knew Ryan was right. Still, it didn’t stop the pitiful sound that left him as his heart clenched painfully in his chest.

It was easy enough to gather Ryan’s limp body into his arms. The mercenary had stopped breathing hours ago, before the sun had finished setting, and Jeremy had morbidly clung to the twisted hope that if he ignored it for long enough, perhaps Ryan would start again.

The difficult part was convincing his arms to let go.

They did so slowly, little-by-little. First went Ryan’s feet, then his legs, his long body slipping away into the black depths until only their hands remained clasped. Jeremy shook as he tried to cope with the end; this was it, as soon as he let go, it would be the last he ever saw of Ryan.

_Now we look like Michelangelo’s ‘God and Adam’. You remember that one, right?_

Jeremy crumpled against the side of the half-deflated raft, sobbing openly against the nylon as his hands remained firmly gripped around Ryan’s own. The voice in his head was only slightly comforting.

_Hard as it was, God let Adam and Eve go. You can do this, I know you can._

And so he did.

As Ryan began slip away into the depths, Jeremy had to battle against the overwhelming urge to dive in after him, and pull Ryan out again. Instead, he collapsed back into the center of the raft, and he screamed.

Somewhere along the way he passed out, whether from exhaustion or grief was unclear. He vaguely remembered the sound of voices—other voices. Half-conscious flashes of faces, and siren lights. A blur of rolling stretchers, and a neon hospital room.

When he finally came to, Jeremy found himself safely in a hospital bed, attached to what felt like a dozen different monitors; bags of grief under his bloodshot eyes, and the weight of the dead against his shoulders. He felt empty, and hollow, and the entire room seemed to rock steadily like the waves that had consumed everything he ever loved.

_They found you washed up on shore._

Jeremy only nodded, no longer questioning the secondary presence in his waterlogged brain.

_You alright, buddy?_

“I want to go home.”

_Alright, then. Let’s go._

**Author's Note:**

> never give me a prompt and expect something happy in return. i sincerely apologize.


End file.
